The True Test of Good
by MizzMarvel
Summary: Aziraphale has some trouble coming to grips with his angelic nature and his undeniable attraction to Crowley.


Disclaimer – Crowley and Zira belong to Neil and Terry. Not me. So sad. Also, this is my first work of GO fanfiction, so…be gentle. Please?   
  
"The True Test of Good"  
  
You want him so bad that there's an ache inside of you when you look at him. You make the effort to blush and look away, pull open an old book and bury your nose in it while he scoffs, like he always does.   
  
Silly fool of a demon for being so blind.  
  
Silly fool of an angel for feeling such things.  
  
~*~  
  
"Old things," Crowley grumbles while you browse the merchandise.  
  
"Antiques," you correct, and pick up a piece of scrimshaw to inspect the intricate carvings. What a horrid waste of a whale.  
  
"Worthless human rubbish," Crowley states emphatically, waving a hand, and off in the corner a delicate porcelain vase topples off its shelf and hits the ground, shattering. "Refuse. Old stuff."  
  
"Then the Bentley is 'old stuff?'"  
  
"No, the Bentley is a CLASSIC. There's a difference."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"That I say so."  
  
"I see."  
  
The owner of the store, an elderly man, has rushed over to the broken vase and is busy cleaning the shards away. You feel horrible for him, but even still you can't be angry at Crowley. It's his job to do such awful things, as it's your job to do good.   
  
"I don't see why we're here anyway," Crowley continues. "Your books have to be better than anything we'll find here."  
  
"Most likely, yes. But you never know. And anyhow, I like to look. The antiques make me feel nostalgic."   
  
You stare down into the polished silver of a serving tray and shrug slightly.  
  
"And you don't have to be here," you say softly, halfway hoping he doesn't hear.  
  
"Yes, well…" Crowley turns away for a moment, then reaches down to pick up some random object. "Here, just get this and let's GO."  
  
He holds out a red wax apple to you, body curved like a serpent, with one hand balanced on his slim hip.   
  
Your eyes widen and, without so much as a flash, you're gone.  
  
~*~  
  
You're so very used to being good. You're an angel, after all. Forget the fallen angels, and those who sauntered down so attractively – you are GOOD. There's no question of that. And it has only just dawned on you that the true test of good is not the absence of temptation, but the resisting of temptation.  
  
You want to stay good so badly.  
  
You want the demon so badly.  
  
Staying good is difficult.  
  
~*~  
  
You aren't very good at hiding, it seems; you retreat to the warm safety of your bookstore and pull one of your books into your lap. The concept of time is lost on you for the moment, but it doesn't seem like very long before Crowley's sitting across from you, curled like a cobra in his chair.   
  
"What's your problem, angel?"  
  
You turn a page and force yourself not to look up into eyes that glitter like onyx.  
  
"What makes you think I have a problem?" you counter lamely.  
  
You don't want to lie. Lying is a sin, and you are an angel. It wouldn't be seemly.  
  
The demon scoffs, a very pretty scoff, you think, as always.  
  
"Oh, just the little thing about vanishing in public without any warning whatsoever. Call it a hunch if you want."  
  
"So? You do it all the time."  
  
"Not to you, angel."  
  
You don't know what to say to that. You turn a page rather than answer.  
  
Crowley hisses in aggravation and stands up. You know the curiosity must be eating at him; the demon likes to be on top of every new development, and that isn't limited to the latest fashions.  
  
"Angel. Tell me."  
  
You stare down at the page, but the letters are swimming.  
  
He taps his foot.  
  
"Angel. Tell me."  
  
You ignore him steadily.  
  
He advances, standing in front of you.  
  
"Angel. Tell me."  
  
You fight his voice; it sounds like the apple must taste.  
  
He kneels beside you and gently grasps your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. The tip of his pink tongue darts out to lick his lips, which hover far too close to yours.  
  
"Aziraphale."  
  
If your heart needed to beat at all, it would skip right at this instant.  
  
~*~  
  
You carefully place another book on the shelf, organizing them for what easily must be the millionth time since you began this little collection. Outside the clouds have gathered and a few drops of rain spatter onto the pavement, but your mind is too far away to notice it. It is just another little rainstorm, after all, one of many you have been witness to. This one is no different than the others.  
  
You're as miserable as the weather, alone in this humble obsession of yours.  
  
But oh, you are so very good.  
  
~Fin~ 


End file.
